Drifting softly in the cold grip
of stars sewn from whispered dreams,
I find myself tracing the edges
of endless abstraction—
a tapestry woven with the sighs of the void.
In corridors of light dimmed
by the weight of absent things,
I wander, a specter aching for
a touch upon the vacant places,
where echoes mend not, neither do they cease.
The paradox within thine own
silent reflection etches deeper,
permeating the skin of reality
until it dissolves into
a thousand unformed whispers.
As the universe folds silently
around the heart's diverging paths,
I remain here, endlessly poised
over chasms of knowing
where the last fragment of light longs to rest.